The hills are alive


I had a very odd dream last night. I was with a group of people taking a long hike up to the top of a mountain, apparently to participate in a paramilitary singing contest of some sort. On the way up were were asked if we had our tags, as they were important. All along our hike we kept evaluating each other’s singing until we reached a large old wooden shack near the top where we stopped to rest and prepare ourselves. As we were getting settled in the shack and our trainers were showing us around, I realized I had to go to the restroom and had to go to several of them before I found one that was clean, where the door locked, etc. Once finished I realized I had a small stain on the front of my pants and tried to clean it with water from the faucet only to now have a large water stain on my pants.¬†Embarrassed,¬†I tried to sneak past everyone to my room to change my pants, and yet no one seemed to notice. We then talked in various groups about the contest, and what sorts of things might be expected of us. Separately we all started to make our way up the wooded path towards the competition hall, which was more like a high school gymnasium building. On the way, I noticed one of my friends had transformed himself into a bird and was circling overhead. He stopped on the branch of a tree and asked me to help him practice. I gave him a few pointers and tried to come up with some octave range tests for him. Then he changed back into a person and we walked to the hall. Once inside, we were all dressed in sort of karate black belt outfits and were standing on mats awaiting instructions. Over the loudspeaker system came this booming voice to layout the rules, which were then immediately posted on large flat screen monitors on the wall. While most of the monitors were posting exactly what had been said in English, one of them was all in Russian, oddly. For some reason, I wasn’t nervous at all, I thought it was all kind of interesting. And then as the competition was about to begin, I woke up.


  1. Mom says:

    Freud would have had a field day with your subconscious……(my dreams are probably every bit as bizarre, but I never remember them).